Tasmanian Devil: A Unique and Threatened Animal

  • David Owen &
  • David Pemberton
Natural History Museum/Allen & Unwin: 2006. 240 pp. £12.99/$24.95 1741143683 0565092022 | ISBN: 1-741-14368-3

Two representations have dominated public perceptions of the largest living marsupial carnivore, the Tasmanian devil. One is the voracious, hurricane-like innocent savage Taz of Looney Tunes cartoon fame. The other, familiar in nineteenth- and twentieth-century rural Tasmania, is the ferocious predator and scavenger that wantonly kills livestock — and perhaps even people, should they become immobilized in the wilderness at night. Devils can take prey nearly three times their size and eat more than a third of their body weight in a sitting. Even so, it is hard to imagine how this species, being only slightly larger than a fox terrier, could be so maligned in name and image.

In Tasmanian Devil, David Owen and David Pemberton delve into devil biology to convey the true nature of the beast once known to science as Sarcophilus satanicus (now S. harrisii). Fact and fiction are teased apart with sound science and tempered speculation. The devil's behaviour and physical appearance are explained in terms of its unique ecological position as a solitary nocturnal predator that relies heavily on communal scavenging. Its larger cousin, the thylacine (Thylacinus cynocephalus), is now extinct, so the devil's present ecological interactions and selection pressures may differ somewhat from those under which it evolved. This makes the authors' comparisons with placental analogues — the ratel (honey badger), wolverine and hyena — particularly instructive. Although a useful starting point for those with an academic interest in the Tasmanian devil, this book, with its well chosen photographs and historical illustrations, has far wider appeal.

The humour and tragedy associated with early European settlers' misunderstanding of the devil are neatly woven together, and the authors' arguments that the devil is not a rural menace are appealing. But I wonder whether the use of anecdotal evidence to lay the blame for poultry and trap raiding on the even rarer spotted-tailed quoll (Dasyurus maculatus) only extends the tyranny of prejudice.

Just misunderstood? Science has shown that the Tasmanian devil isn't so satanic after all. Credit: P. A. SOUDERS/CORBIS

Peripheral connections to the devil story provide light relief. Particularly well fleshed out is the link between Theodore Flynn, who studied devil reproductive anatomy, his actor son Errol, who dubbed himself ‘the Tasmanian devil’, and Errol's employer, Warner Brothers, who have profited immensely from Taz cartoons and merchandising.

The inclusion of a wide array of reports and newspaper articles provides the reader with access to a mostly bygone mood of malevolence towards the devil, as well as to the voices that began to change this attitude. It is particularly sad that having survived being shot, poisoned and trapped for bounties, and finally winning considerable public affection, devils are now succumbing to devil facial tumour disease. The authors relate the few clear facts about this hideous affliction, which seems to spread through biting and is devastating devil populations across much of Tasmania. It is unknown whether the disease is an old foe or whether its origins lie elsewhere, for example in the accumulation of anthropogenic carcinogens. At this and other points of uncertainty I was left wondering what the Tasmanian aboriginals could have told us about the devil, had misunderstanding, persecution and disease not led to their own demise.

The authors have succeeded in demystifying the Tasmanian devil and reveal a fascinating creature; we would be much poorer without it. Nevertheless, if you were to follow some raucous screams through the dark Tasmanian night and came upon half a dozen of these stout, black marsupials gorging on the carcass of a cow with their bone-crunching teeth, you might still think they were devils indeed.